


amore

by izayas



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Coping, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Implied/Referenced Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izayas/pseuds/izayas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's only one person who loves yagiri namie and not only is he not yagiri seiji, but he's the most despicable man on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	amore

**i. kisses**

"Now, now… don’t tell me, that was your first kiss?"

Namie had been organizing the books when Izaya kisses her, short and sweet, chaste and simple. He draws back immediately to view her response and instantly smirks at her expression. She’s staring at him, breath still and there’s a flicker of a teenage girl getting her first kiss from an upperclassmen in those eyes, those eyes usually devoid of emotion. Yagiri Namie has cemetery eyes and only occasionally do they hold the shimmer of a spirit, just one.

And that spirit is…

"Or… did you think of Seiji-kun…?" Izaya asks, feigning an apologetic tone. He kissed her because he was bored, he kissed her because he had nothing to do. He kissed her for a reaction and delights that it was not the reaction he had expected.

Namie scoffs and turns sharply, begins walking away. To her annoyance, she can hear Izaya following her. She takes a moment, collects herself. Yagiri Namie isn’t about to be caught off guard by the single most despicable man on Earth and in five steps she’s regained full control of her body, her tongue, her emotions, her thoughts.

"Seiji’s kissed me before,” she says smoothly.

"Has he…"

Izaya takes long strides and he’s in front of her suddenly, hand to the wall, other in his pocket. He’s using his height to look down on her and the woman’s eyes narrow, refusing to waver; she’s brought back up the stoic exterior that everyone gets, everyone except Seiji. Yagiri Namie has a heart of gold, not because it’s kind, but because it’s so well protected in her fortress of a body. Her nails are arrows, her tongue is a canon, her skin is laced with poison. No one can get in without her consent, no one can break her down.

She had to grow up quickly and be strong, after all.

"Was it a _real_ kiss?” Izaya asks, his smirk widening. “Or did you imagine it? Did you see every eyelash, every minute detail of his face? Did you feel his _lips_? Or—”

Namie tries to shove at him but he takes a step back, gracefully dodges her hand and even gives a short chuckle. She hates him, she hates Orihara Izaya. She hates him because he is the only man who can see her weak points just by _looking_ at her. He knows where the cracks are because no building is perfect and Yagiri Namie is not only a self-constructed structure, but she is also human and her being is lined with human imperfections.

She hates Orihara Izaya, she hates him so much. She hates his clothes, she hates his body, she hates his hair, she hates his skin. She hates his hands, she hates his coat, she hates his face, she hates his smirk.

She wants to cut his lips off of his face.

"But, regardless… that means I’m the second man to kiss you, aa?"

Izaya’s smirk widens at her growing scowl. Yagiri Namie has cemetery eyes and a labyrinth body, but anger is what stirs those spirits and widens those shortcuts.

"Perhaps… I’m the first man to _really_ kiss you.”

**ii. virginity**

Yagiri Namie’s only ever kissed Yagiri Seiji, and Orihara Izaya’s got Harima Mika’s word that it wasn’t a real kiss. He remembers being overjoyed when he hears; he loves getting information on her secretary because teasing her and making her life hell easily ranks rather high on his list of hobbies. He more than compensates Mika for her efforts in a very Orihara Izaya fashion, hangs up and is in a rather good mood the rest of the day. He already begins thinking of when to use it, how to use it—or maybe to just wing it? Things always seem the most fun that way.

But he’s decided to save that for another time. It’s more fun to bring someone down when they’re at a high and, currently, Yagiri Namie is not at a high.

_“Have sex with me.”_

_Izaya is still for two seconds. He finishes his sip of coffee first before placing the mug down, standing and nodding._

_“All right.”_

"Are you going to imagine that I’m Seiji?" Izaya asks as his lips move over Namie’s pale skin. He feels her shiver, teeth and lips to a nipple as hands trace the curve of her waist and hips. Her bare body has warmed his sheets, but they both know it won’t do the same for their hearts. Izaya’s slow as he memorizes her, takes his time. Observes every single part of her, leaves marks with his lips and teeth.

(But marking her from whom? It isn’t as if she has anyone else.)

His eyes close as he moves further down, feathers slightly chapped lips over skin untouched by a man before.

Yagiri Namie has an excellent body and it’s truly a shame that had things gone her way, only Yagiri Seiji would get to see it.

Izaya loves when things don’t go Namie’s way.

She gives a breathy sigh and Izaya knows her eyes are closed as well. It makes it easier to pretend he’s not Orihara Izaya but, rather, Yagiri Seiji.

He pulls back once he’s canvassed her body, reaches over for a condom. Dark eyes watch her impassively as he pulls his boxers down just barely enough—the last piece of clothing remaining between the two—and rolls it on, tip pinched. Her eyes don’t open the entire time, though he does notice her brow knit for a split second upon hearing the condom packet being opened.

His hands lift her lily woven legs and he presses into her gently, stills once their hips met. Namie’s eyes flutter open when he isn’t moving and glares, as if the wince earlier hadn’t happened. “…What.”

He smirks.

It’s amusing, the way her question is a statement.

"I imagine sex is much more enjoyable if you’re writhing beneath me from the start," he murmurs and leans down, steals another kiss.

She looks livid.

"Megalomaniac."

His smirk becomes twisted.

"Incestuous bitch."

He pulls out and begins moving, has the courtesy for the first few thrusts to be slow. But once he feels her relax, his hips move faster; his hands clench as elbows dig into the bed on either side of her head. Namie’s gasps sound before she can try to silence them and she feels her body moving with every thrust. It’s a foreign feeling at first but it feels good, she thinks, but she’ll be _damned_ if she lets Izaya confirm that.

Her eyes close but she can’t imagine Seiji at all; she can’t imagine his touch is like this, that his breath is of mint. She can’t imagine that his elbow would be on her hair, that his body is so slender and lean. She can’t imagine him at all and no matter what she does, she can only imagine Izaya and that by itself is enough for her to want to vomit.

(But still, it feels good. After all, sex is sex.)

She gives up and opens her eyes, watches his expression.

And she smirks slightly because it’s not impassive, because it’s human; she can see lust glaze over his features and she’s elated because she feels like she’s won a _tiny_ victory. For the first time in a long while, she feels as if something is going her way. For a short moment, an ephemeral and ethereal moment in time, she forgets that her heart has turned from gold to lead, that her fortress has been invaded, that she’s given up.

"Your love is disgusting," she murmurs and Izaya gives a short laugh.

"Thank you. So is yours."

**iii. sex**

Namie hates herself for it, but she begins sleeping with Orihara Izaya and it seems to be nearing a daily basis.

Seiji’s not answering her phone calls. It seems after what happened with Mika, he doesn’t want to speak to her. She can’t find him and wonders if her only card has been taken away; has he found a way to get the head on his own?

Her heart sinks at the thought. She remembers the first time; she sits on the edge of Izaya’s bed (because he’s lent the room to her for privacy when he has clients over) and stares at the device. Her chest feels tight, her skin tingles, her head feels lightheaded. Her mouth feels dry and her breath is short; there’s a flurry of emotion and she can’t even begin to distinguish it and there is only one thing truly apparent in her mind:

_I don’t want to be alone._

And that’s when she goes to find Izaya. It used to be only at night but soon the misery becomes all encompassing and Namie can’t even make tea in the morning. She’s staring at the kettle, feels this urge to take it off the stove and put her hand in its place. Something to stop the numbness. Something to make her feel again, convince herself she still exists, something to ground her, to keep from disappearing.

Izaya walks into the kitchen, opens a cupboard for a mug. But when he closes it, Namie’s standing there and she leans up to kiss him, body pressed to his without even hesitating and it seems Izaya’s coffee has got to wait. The tips of her fingers are cold when they touch against his jawline, his neck, finally resting on his chest.

 _“Fingers of ice to match the heart_ , _”_ he murmurs against her mouth.

She says nothing but kisses him harder. She doesn’t want him to talk. It ruins the illusion she’s worked hard to create for herself. And it works; he kisses her back and walks her backwards until her ass meets a counter and she’s lifted easily, like she weighs nothing, but not that she is nothing.

She hasn’t thought about it but Izaya has: what would happen if Orihara Izaya, the most despicable man on earth but the only who loves her, rejects her?

Izaya’s decided to leave that as an experiment for another day. Again: much more fun to watch her fall when she’s at a high point. Not so fun when she’s lower than rock bottom.

He usually smirks into the kiss and they’ve grown a bit more creative than the bed. There’s the couch, the wall, the kitchen table, the counters. Almost everywhere in the apartment is a viable place for sex. Even Izaya’s chair, although he maintains his desk is off limits.

He’s even pressed her to the window once.

Personally, Izaya has never used sex as a coping mechanism. As a way to prey on someone’s insecurity, yes. As a way for information, yes. As a way to obtain blackmail, yes. He’s had sex for many reasons but love and coping are neither of them.

He knows that Yagiri Namie would have sex only for love and coping and he can’t imagine it.

He treats her the way a lover would; for some reason, fast and quick fucks don’t feel right. It’s not that he’s kind to her. Perhaps the reason was closer to him not wanting her to break too quickly. It was similar to a child being gentle with a new toy, wanting it to last forever.

Izaya’s been pretty bored recently.

There’s a quiet desperation in the way Namie kisses him. The first few times had been hesitant but it seems the woman’s given up; she kisses him and he kisses her back, pushes back any meetings with a few taps on his phone. She’s very easy to lift—perhaps she’s also lost some weight?—and he has no trouble tossing her wherever they’ve chosen. Most days clothing remains on to some degree but sometimes, and every night, every single article is stripped and tossed aside.

Yagiri Namie has long hair and pale skin, pink lips and the body of most men’s dreams. If Yagiri Namie wasn’t so obsessed with her little brother that she’s allowing it to destroy herself, she’d have all the love she could ever need, all the love that her childhood self craved so much.

(Izaya knows. Oh, he _knows_. And whether Namie knows that he knows doesn’t concern him; he _knows_ and he _observes_ and he is _so ecstatic_ to watch the ice queen be the seeking out fires and salt.)

Unfortunately, Yagiri Namie does not seem to be interested in love from anyone else. Or, maybe, Yagiri Namie is so deep in her own misery that she’s only able to see love from one other person and is so desperate she grasps at it, doesn’t realize that it would be only too easy for her to talk another man into her bed, someone who she would probably think is a better human being than Izaya.

She could. She so easily _could_.

But she doesn’t and it seems that Yagiri Namie is truly going insane.

And yet there are moments where when they finish, Izaya is silent as he watches Namie redress without saying anything, go back to her usual demeanor, walk out of the room and back to her desk.

And sometimes Izaya wonders if he’s being used more than he’s using her for his amusement.

**iv. love**

"Seiji doesn’t love me," Namie says quietly, back to Izaya.

It’s nighttime and they’ve just finished, but afterglow doesn’t seem to exist for either of them. Izaya’s on his back and Namie’s on her side; sleep and fatigue evade them both and this is the first time that Namie’s said something after sex.

"No," he answers, voice dull and monotonous. But she feels circles traced on her back and it’s revolting. She almost shivers in disgust. Yet, she doesn’t tell him to stop.

"…But you love me," she says in an even quieter voice, as if not wanting to confirm it.

But Izaya confirms it. “I do.”

_How low have I fallen if I crave this man’s love?_

She falls silent and gives a shaky sigh. She hates silence. She hates how heavy her thoughts are when there isn’t anything else to blame the weight on.

She’s naked and in bed with Orihara Izaya, the inside of her thighs still sticky as she shifts, brings her knees a bit closer to her chest. Along with her movements, she hears Izaya’s and prays he doesn’t come closer.

But naturally, he does.

He tends to do things she hates.

He’s probably supporting himself on an elbow, she thinks as she feels his legs brush against hers. One of his hands is on her arm and he bows, ghosts a kiss on her shoulder.

"At least," he murmurs, "someone loves you. And as long as you don’t love me, then this is fine."

She stares at the wall, keeps her face emotionless. She says nothing for a moment; her heart is twisting and she feels nauseous, but even this is better than feeling nothing. Talking to Izaya is her boiling tea kettle.

"You’re all right with no one loving you?" she asks in a hushed voice.

"Namie-san, I’m nothing like you," he murmurs, voice soft but words cold. "And you’re nothing like me. But…"

He trails off and she understands. This is something that only she, from spending so much time with him, has seen glimpses of, understands because she, also, feels that way. She sighs, closes her eyes and barely whispers the words.

"…We’re both lonely."

**v. life**

"Are you going to kill yourself?"

He ignores her at first when she comes in, is too involved in watching the chat room to sing his usual greeting. It’s oddly quiet; when Namie isn’t angrily closing cupboards to express her disdain of being present, Izaya usually wonders if something’s wrong. The silence goes on for a few minutes and he continues to ignore her when she walks past him to the window. Only when the chat room dies down does he decide to shift his attention.

Because, after all, a quiet Namie can be just as interesting as a desperate Namie.

Izaya swivels in his chair to watch his secretary stare out the floor-to-ceiling window, holding her elbows. If he weren’t here, he knows, she’d be holding herself, curled up somewhere, maybe the shower, just like last time.

What he and Namie have in common is that they don’t like to show weakness.

She’s quiet and he looks at the reflection for her expression. There’s no flicker of anything in particular, but over the past few weeks, he’s seen her begin to fall apart. A strong woman, once the chief of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, beginning to lose everything—all because of her little brother. Her delusion was beginning to unravel and so she began to try to build a new one, but Orihara Izaya isn’t going to be in someone else’s fantasy world, isn’t going to let himself be used.

Absolutely not.

"You know," he says, turning back to his work, "you wouldn’t be the Namie I love if you killed yourself over some boy," he sighs nonchalantly. "Of course… you also wouldn’t be the Namie I love if you deflected this obsessive craving for affection onto _me_. Please do keep your feelings of love to within your family.”

Contrary to expectations, Orihara Izaya has never _killed_ anyone. He has never dealt the first or last physical blow (except with Heiwajima Shizuo, but that’s a different story.) Orihara Izaya isn’t Death. Orihara Izaya is…

…just having some fun.

He waits and begins deleting some emails, focusing on the task, yet keeping his ears alert. He’s very good at multitasking and he can be very patient. He’s prodded her, he’s set a bait, and he simply has to wait for her to take it.

Because despite everything, Yagiri Namie is a human. She is one of his humans, one of his deeply, deeply beloved humans. One of his humans, and so he knows what to say, when to say it, how to say it, knows how she will react.

He simply has to wait.

A microscopic smirk pulls at his lips when she steps back from the window, begins heading to the kitchen but pauses by his desk.

It could be argued he’s pushed someone towards the line but, once in a while, he pulls them back from it.

Usually if that person is of use to him.

"Yes?" he asks and looks up at her, eyes darkening and smirk growing.

She stares at him, coldly and with an intent to kill. It’s the first time in weeks she’s truly seemed like herself; he’s almost missed her fiery temper, grew bored with the new miserable, desperate Namie. It was different but it wasn’t his secretary. She looks at him like she’s formulating a plan, like she has a bottle of arsenic in her hand as she goes to make him some coffee. She looks at him with nothing but pure hatred.

And he revels in it.

It’s beautiful.

"You’re _disgusting._ ”

He smirks; his face contorts into something darker, an expression that’s scared many, but Namie stands her ground.

"Love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> another reupload from tumblr, slightly edited and expanded upon. thank you for reading, kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated!


End file.
